Intervention Most Fowl
by hieros-gamoswastakenokay
Summary: The day of the final battle, James and Lily Potter don't appear from the stone. Instead, the stone releases someone a little less passive from the grave. Canon up to Battle of Hogwarts.


It wasn't supposed to work out this way.

Harry knew it wasn't, it couldn't have been. He held the ring in his palm, his parents were just a turn away. Sirius too. He could bring them out, one last goodbye. _No, this was a hello, wasn't it? _A hello, I'll see you in a bit, would you pick me up at the station? Harry laughed, sound choking in his throat. This was the next great adventure, a little trip, vacation with the family. The thought of beaches and sun was imprinted on his eyelids. An owl hooted, Harry's eyes jumped open with a snap, _Hedwig?_

He shook himself. Of course it wasn't. Hedwig was gone. But then the hoot came again. Soft and throaty, a low chastisement and familiar reprimand. Fluttering wings, deep gray in the darkness of the forest but Harry felt a jump in his gut because somehow there was a sliver of hope lingering within himself that reared with maybes and what ifs and it pulled him, stepping forward through the forest and away from the death eater camp in movements rushed with that pounding lost feeling that was almost like a dream. Hedwig's wings made no sound, darting through trees which flashed through his tunnel vision like hundreds of curses, bright and green and so close to the killing curse that as one came close to Harry's face he propelled himself from it forcefully enough that the world rushed around him with a swirl.

The earth was cold. _Hoot. _Blood pounded in his ears, head and limbs hot from the chase. **_Hoot. _**His breath and heat seeped into the ground, leaving only a deep calmness. _**Hoot.**_

"Ow! Bloody bird." Harry mumbled into the dirt as his head rose, nose red. He glared at Hedwig, or Not-Hedwig as it could very well be. Someone chuckled deeply over his head.

"Having trouble there Harry?"

His head snapped up.

The forest was dark and Harry cursed it, his glasses spilled somewhere and leaving him blind as he struggled in the soil, the voice getting closer and still a blur of darker black in his vision.

"Hedwig's just a bit cross with you, but it's only because she's worried," the voice said.

Harry knew that. He frowned. He'd known Hedwig for years. Knew her better than anyone. He knew her temper and he knew her reasons. Why did this man speak as if he was Hedwig's master?

_Hoot. _Expanses of black feathering rose and fluttered before taking off, _Hedwig_. She circled once before landing on another blob. The man's arm perhaps, he stepped closer. And then there was a hand in Harry's hair, soft and soothing, working out the tightness that held Harry so stiffly.

"It's okay that you're afraid," the voice whispered, "courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important." Harry felt a wry smile against his hair. A deep chuckle rumbled against Harry, "I heard a muggle say that once, pretty cool huh?" Those words pulled at him. Some hint of familiarity that he couldn't quite place, a softness that he'd rarely had, heard between lovers in the common room and best friends during class, at the station when children met parents and in Harry's own voice as he'd talked to Hedwig, or as Aunt Petunia had talked to Dudley - Harry pressing his ear against the cupboard late at night to hear the scoldings that weren't really scoldings because there wasn't any bite, just warmth and care and the press of love against someone's heart.

Harry didn't hear that much. Certainly he had never heard it from Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. He was just a nuisance who lived and worked about the house. His professors were just that, professors who were not his parents and who had hundreds of students under their care. Hermione and Ron often would use that tone with each other, as lovers were known to due, but when they spoke to Harry it wasn't quite the same. A fond exasperation, love in its own way but not this deep pulsing feeling. His mother and father, the two times he'd seen them, either hadn't spoken, or had been in a situation where that tone couldn't have maneuvered it's way into the conversation if it had been Peter Pettigrew himself. And Sirius... Harry felt himself tremble and the hand carding through his hair pressed harder, he was thankful.

* * *

He woke to the sounds of destruction. The Forbidden Forest was burning around him, smoke clogging his lungs. Yelling, screams, flashes of spell light and every so often the broken call of a name as another fell.

_What had he done?_

Harry scrambled up, branches catching his hair and sweater. The sky was beginning to lighten, the castle must have thought he'd abandoned them.

The fire was catching behind him, growing with bright embers and dangerous fumes, letting of sparks and color. A pink smoke began to rise around Harry, the grass beneath it withering as it moved. He had to go back now. He couldn't give himself up, the time for that was passed. All there was left was to fight.

Harry ran. The forest, as if sensing his urgency, seemed to create a pathway for him and soon Hogwarts was in sight.

"**Harry!**" came a shout, and Harry came to a stop. He turned to see Hermione and Ron coming at him. Ron stepped forward and engulfed him in a hug. Harry allowed it for a moment.

"I went to offer myself to Voldemort," Harry said, breaking off and beginning again towards Hogwarts, "but something came up, no time to explain!"

Hermione looked to Ron, Ron looked back. "Something's off," she whispered. Ron nodded. He clutched his wand tighter in his hand, moving to clasp his other with Hermione's.

"Harry's right, there's no time to explain." Hermione nodded hesitantly and gave Ron's hand a squeeze before following Harry.

Hidden in the burning remains of the Forbidden Forest, Hedwig circled again - landing delicately on the arm of Tom Marvolo Riddle.


End file.
